


Comparisons

by orphan_account



Series: Breath Spent, Time Wasted [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, but here i am, ive been too stuck on haikyuu to write for homestuck haha, perhaps, this is my first johndave work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which your name is DAVE STRIDER; human, lover, failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this is my first johndave lil drabble thing! i cranked this out on a plane ride, god bless im so tired

Sometimes you think he remembers.

His eyes would flash bright blue and he’d turn towards you, hand squeezing yours, mouth open, ready to say something, ready to say ‘Dave, I’m sorry!’ but it never comes and the flash is gone as quick as it arrived.

Rose knows.

She knows just about everything, right down to the pain you feel when you realize that an entire lifetime spent loving your boyfriend was forgotten.

Of course, things were different then.

You think that maybe you’re the only one who really remembers everything. After all, Rose hasn’t bothered to find her Kanaya in this timeline, and sometimes her gaze clouds over with confusion when you talk to her about SBURB, but she hides it well. She remembers you, Jade, and John, and that’s what matters. To you, at least.

Jade remembers bits and pieces, here and there. You see it in the way that she looks at white dogs and rifles, how she sometimes jokingly calls you fuckass, a word she hasn’t used in this timeline. She doesn’t seem to want to remember, though. She willfully chooses to ignore any telltale signs of your past lives, and that’s fully her right.

You understand.

You just wish that John had that choice too. You want him to remember how you died for him- how he was a hero, your hero, and god, just how much you loved him, even if it was unrequited.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

That’s what really fucks you up.

What if you had confessed? Would it have been different?

When you’re laying there in bed at 3 AM, you ponder those questions, running them through your head until they’re playing like a scratched record.

Confess, confess, confess. Maybe you screwed up. Maybe you could have had him in that timeline too.

But then again, maybe if he remembered SBURB he wouldn’t want you anymore. His fingers would slip out of your grasp, and his smile would once again turn sour.

You wanted him happy, you wanted him safe, you wanted him with you.

And even though its selfish, you don’t think that you’ll ever tell this John about SBURB.

It’s just, when its late at night and the two of you had just come back from the movies (you commentate on films you’ve seen before, using jokes that made the Other John laugh until he cried- this one chuckles softly and intertwines his fingers with yours) and you lay on the living room floor- because fuck the couch, that’s why, and his leg drops over yours, hand touching yours in the gentlest of ways, you can’t bring yourself to ruin it.

You find that the two Johns are the same, and yet impossibly different. This John is gentle, soft, everything that the game took away from your John. He laughs easily, but doesn’t laugh as heartily- your jokes don’t surprise him like they did your John.

‘Your John.’

You miss him.

You really fucking miss your John. You miss his smile, and his laugh, and his punches in your arm as you tell a particularly bad pun or a rude comment about his taste in movies.

You miss your John, but this was your John too, and maybe it isn’t too selfish to fall in love with two people. They’re technically the same after all.

Somehow you feel as though you’re taking advantage of him in some way. You knew exactly how to become his friend, how to intrigue him, how to present yourself as a love interest, and it had worked swimmingly.

Maybe it would have been better if you had just never remembered at all.

Would you still love John if the session hadn’t existed?

You honestly couldn’t say, and damn, that scares you. You like to think that you would. You also like to blame the session for John’s feelings towards you, although some part of you whispers that John doesn’t actually love you – neither of them do. Neither of them would ever, could ever, love you and that was fate- destiny.

You couldn’t change that.

In your prior life, you could.

But now you were just Dave Strider, an artist, an upcoming movie producer. You were just yourself, just you. Plain old you, who managed to captivate John’s heart in ways that Dave couldn’t before.

You can’t really tell if that Dave is literally you, or just an alternate version of you. You suspect the latter, although theories aren’t your strong suit- you get too wrapped up in thinking, and that usually makes John question whether you’re alright, since you literally lock yourself in your room for days at a time.

Maybe you fucked up.

But, maybe you don’t care.

Maybe the only thing that matters to you is the smile that John sends you that’s an exact replica of the beaming grin he had last time.

Maybe the only person who really matters is John.

Maybe when you glance down at your hands, fingers tightly intertwined, and you feel your chest spread with warmth- love, not passion, you don’t want to ponder these thoughts of alternate timelines.

But here you were, nonetheless. 2 AM, sitting next to your boyfriends (fiancés) hospital bed, holding the same hand you’ve wished to hold for millennia, watching the sweat bead on his forehead and his heart rate gradually flatline.

Your John could have avoided that car crash. Your John wouldn’t have been killed by something as simple as this.

But this was Your John also, and he is vulnerable.

Maybe you should have gone with him to the store, it was just a quick run after all- you had complained adamantly that you ran out of apple juice and he had rolled his blue, blue eyes and gotten his ass up from the couch.

Maybe you should have shouted “Drive safely” before he left.

Maybe you should have gone yourself.

You hear a long beep, cold and neverending, and you release a choked sob, slamming your face into his bedside, glasses perched on top of your head cracking with the force used.

Maybe you could have saved them- both of them, either of them.

You wished you didn’t remember SBURB, but most of all, you wish you didn’t remember John.

Because then, maybe he could be happy.

Happy.

You wonder what that felt like- looked like.

You wonder if you made Your John happy- either of them, both of them.

You wonder if he would hate you if you joined him in the next timeline a bit before your time was ready.

You find that you’re not all that concerned as you quite literally go off the deep end.

You’ll see Him again, and then there’ll be three Johns, to compare, to love, to die.

 


	2. sort of unrelated angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i had nowhere else to post this so eh e have some dave

You hate him. You hate him. You hate him.

 You convince yourself, time after time after time, even after he’s gone.

 After he’s _been_ gone. 

Your friends convince you that he was a terrible guardian- that you were abused, that he’s truly the one at fault here, but you know better. You know the common factor in all of your failed relationships and timelines and doings- it is you. You are a failure, the failure, good job. It is you.

 You, Dave Strider, aged 16, ready to take on the world. 

 You’d much rather just die but you’re too much of a coward- you can’t kill yourself, even if you try to. Can’t even do this one simple thing. 

 You say you hate him, but in him you see yourself, and he sees himself in you.

 You can’t hate him, but you hate the part of him that is you.

 He’s your brother, your guardian.

 He tried his best. 

 He tried his best and you failed him and continue to fail him- you disappoint his ghost, his spirit, every bit of him that still lies within you hates you.

 Or perhaps that’s just you. Perhaps his part is the little part that whispers to you to go get help- from John, from Rose, from anyone at all, the part that acts in self preservation whenever you wish the opposite.

 You wish he were still here. You wish he would pet your head, call you ‘buddy’ or anything of the sort- you miss his voice. 

 The voice acquainted with him in your head is a cheap imitation, and when you tell it what you want to hear it rattles off. 

_Dave, I love you. Dave, I love you. Dave._

You shut it off and it goes silent, and you’re not sure if you ever want to hear it again.

But its ok, because you’re alive while your brother is dead, and that is fair for some reason.

You hear it start back up again.

_Dave, I love you._

You hate yourself. You hate yourself. You hate yourself.

But a part of him loves you.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk what you think! I love speaking to you all, please don't hesitate to leave a comment.
> 
> How was your day today? Was there anything that made you smile? (I hope there was!)


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